


breeds pestilence

by weefaol



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Dark Dean, Desperate Dean, Dirty Talk, Incest Kink, M/M, Major Wincest Vibes, Out of Character, Praise Kink, References to Sam Winchester, Repressed Urges, Rough Sex, Spanking, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 23:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: “Tell me I’m not the only one who’s wanted this. Foryears.”When Sam leaves the bunker for the night, Dean takes out his twisted urges on an unsuspecting Jack.





	breeds pestilence

**Author's Note:**

> "He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence." ~ William Blake
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://kansaskissedlips.tumblr.com/post/167073942966/dean-hatefucking-jack-bc-its-almost-like-fucking) anonymous ask on tumblr.

It was evening in the bunker and Jack was doing his best to figure out how microwaves worked when Dean entered the kitchen. Jack watched him approach from the corner of his eye and tensed up like he always did when Dean was around.

“Hey,” said Jack, his eyes shifting to the left. Dean had halted right next to him, closer than he normally allowed.

“Hey.” Dean cleared his throat. It was scratchy, rough. “You did good today, Jack.”

Jack stared at the microwave, blinking twice. A warm nugget seemed to alight inside his chest, filling him with warmth and pride. Dean _never_ praised him like this. Usually, Dean kept their interactions curt, to the point. But this time, Jack couldn’t help but notice the very curious, very _calculated_ , way the older Winchester’s eyes seemed to linger on his body. Surveying him up and down. Rapacious. Vulturine.

It made the tips of his ears turn pink. “Where’s Sam?”

“Sam’s not here,” said Dean, a strange rumble in his voice. “Won’t be back ’til later.”

Jack swallowed, blood pounding in his ears. He couldn’t quite explain it — not in human terms anyway — why he felt so… _off balance_ under Dean’s gaze. Bare boned and ruffled feathers. Fight or flight.

“Hey, I mean it, though,” said Dean, stepping closer. “You did really good, kid.” Moved close enough so Jack could smell his aftershave; could see the watermarks on his skin from a hot shower. Scrubbed clean and rubbed raw. A funny look in his eye. “I, uh, wanna give you something. It’s in my room.”

Jack beamed, feeling at once unsettled and intensely proud that, after all this time, Dean was finally beginning to see something in him. Something _good_. Something worth saving. “Okay.”

He followed footsteps behind as Dean strode down the long corridor to his bedroom. When they arrived, Dean held the door open, his face set like stone, and ushered Jack inside. As he crossed the threshold, Jack tried his best to take everything in — the organized vinyl records, the gun and blade collection, the photos, the books, the half-empty coffee cup. He smiled softly. Up until now, Dean’s room had been strictly off-limits.

He didn’t have much time to observe all of the personal knick-knacks, however, because he was startled by the loud slam of a door and a violent shove from behind. He stumbled forward into the middle of the room, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. Heard the click of the door lock and, after regaining his footing, he turned around.

Dean was standing there with a dark glint in his eye, his shoulders rising and falling from heavy breaths. “Get on the bed.”

Jack frowned, his eyes widening with fear and uncertainty. “Dean?”

“I said _get on the bed_.” Dean lunged at him and grabbed a rough hold of his arm. Threw him down on the bed so hard he left blue finger-bruises.

Jack blinked and saw twinkly little stars. Flickers and dizzy spells. Whiplash. He tried his best to stabilize himself on hands and knees, but the room was thrown off balance. His whole world and everything in it.

“Take off your clothes,” said Dean, low and gruff, as he hovered next to the bed.

Jack blushed in embarrassment, his head spinning, but he did as he was told. Tried to convince himself this was some sort of human custom — a _ritual_ , perhaps — that Sam had neglected to tell him about. Wondered if, somehow, the bestowing of gifts was meant to be performed without garments. But, deep down, there was a prickly pit in his stomach. One that made him sick.

Jack whimpered quietly as he slipped out of his clothing, one by one — the plaid shirt Sam gave him, the corduroy pants with tears at the seams, an old hand-me-down Zeppelin tee. Naked and trembling, he knelt on the bed and stared at the brick wall, feeling the burn of Dean’s eyes at his back.

“Good boy,” growled Dean from behind.

Jack shivered, his veins thrumming with nervous energy. The sound of a breathy exhale and the heavy _clink_ of a belt buckle pierced his ear drums. He chanced a glanced behind, turning his head to see that Dean had also stripped down and was rubbing his cock in his hand.

“Bend over,” grunted Dean, sending a chill down Jack’s spine. “And don’t fuckin’ look at me.”

Jack snapped his head forward, his heart beating like an angry drum. The last thing he wanted was to make Dean more upset. Not when the seasoned hunter had been so quick to threaten him with death in the past. Wincing, Jack leaned forward onto his elbows, his ass in the air. Felt the mattress dip as Dean climbed onto it, aligning himself behind.

“Beautiful,” whispered Dean, scarcely loud enough to hear.

Jack’s face flushed hot at that word. That wonderful word. A word of praise and of love and appreciation — one completely at odds with the twist of shame and fear and loathing inside him. He shuddered when he felt two hands on his thighs, calloused fingers trembling as they glided up to his hips, his waist, his —

 _SMACK_.

Jack wailed when the palm of Dean’s hand smacked his ass like the crack of a whip. Dean’s hands — rough now, _grabbing_ now — pulled his hips back until Jack felt the press of the hunter’s hard cock against his ass.

“You think you can walk around like that all the time? Huh?” Dean slapped his ass again. _Harder_. “You think you can just parade that little ass of yours around and expect me not to do something about it? _Do you_?” He jerked Jack’s hips back, _hard_ , rubbing himself against his hole.

“N-no,” said Jack, his voice wavering. If he hadn’t known it already, it was abundantly clear now that this was _wrong_. That his gut said this wasn’t normal. That Sam would never do this. That Dean shouldn’t be doing it now…

The sound of the bedside drawer being slid open, the _pop_ of a cap, and then an obscene _squelchy_ noise made Jack’s head spin with panic. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean spreading lube onto his hand and slicking up his dick.

Dean moaned as his fist-fucked himself. “What’re you tryna do to me, huh? Walking around like that… It’s like you’re begging for it. _Slut_.”

Jack had never heard that word before, but it slashed him deep like a demon’s knife. It sounded so filthy, so _wrong_ on Dean’s lips.

“ _Ohh_ ,” Jack groaned when, without warning, Dean slid a slicked-up finger into his hole. His private place. _Inside_. The place no one was supposed to touch.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, baby?” Dean fucked his finger in and out, slicking Jack’s hole. Two fingers. Stretching and sculpting. Three. Taunting and _taking_. “You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you, boy?” He leaned down, his hot breath tickling along Jack’s spine. Whispered, “Tell me I’m not the only one who’s wanted this… _Years_.”

When Jack didn’t respond, Dean slapped his ass again, leaving an angry red handprint.

“ _Want you_ ,” Jack moaned in shame, burrowing his face in the mattress. He had quickly learned the rules of Dean’s game. Dean’s _gift_.

“Know you do, sweetheart. Always have…” Dean’s words dripped with sugar, now. Sickly, saccharine. At once, he removed his fingers and, his breathing ragged and raw, lined up his cock with Jack’s entrance, nudging the tip against his aching hole. “Gonna fuck the demon blood outta you, baby. Make you good. Make you _pure_.”

Tears brimmed at Jack’s eyes at Dean’s cruel words, the blasphemy — _demon, demon, demon_ — ricocheting around his ribcage. He cried out in agony as Dean pushed himself inside, gliding his slicked cock into Jack’s virgin hole. It was tight, _impossibly_ tight, and not nearly prepared for the brutal way Dean manhandled him, thrusting deep — in and out, a nice, slow _drag_.

“That’s it, baby,” hushed Dean, leaning forward and draping himself over Jack’s body, wrapping an arm around his stomach, pulling him tight. “So good for me, _little brother_.”

Jack’s stomach dropped, guilt and shame and injustice twisting in his belly. His head spun in slow motion. _Little brother?_

Dean was breathing heavy now, fucking into him harder, his punishing cock a torturous slide in and out, the swollen head nudging against all of his soft ridges. Rearranging his insides. Dean hugged him tight, pinning one of Jack’s hands to the bed and interlacing their fingers like lovers. He buried his face in Jack’s neck, his breath hot and heavy.

“Tell me you love me,” said Dean, grunting and whimpering in Jack’s ear. “Tell me how much you love your big brother. Gonna make me _come_ , sweetheart.”

Jack closed his eyes, wincing as Dean’s thrusts grew faster and sloppier. Uneven. Off-kilter. It would all be over soon.

“ _I — I love you, b-big brother. Always wanted this.”_

Dean _moaned_ , a deep, guttural groan, as he pounded Jack’s ass. Losing his breath. Losing control.

“ _Jesus_ , baby, I’m gonna fuckin’ come… Gonna make me come, Sammy… _oh god, oh god, Sammyyyy…”_

Dean cried out in heavenly anguish, his little brother’s name on his lips, as his body trembled with want. Jack felt something hot and wet spill into him, coating his insides with white salt and seed — Dean’s _love_ , designed for another.

Jack waited, his own body shaking with pain, until Dean’s thrusts slowed to a halt and his breathing deepened. Winced when, at long last, Dean pulled out, leaving Jack a sweat-ridden and sticky mess on the sheets. Watched from the corner of his eye, his brain all fuzzy at the edges, as Dean straightened up and, one by one, put his clothing back on.

Once he was dressed, Dean rolled up his sleeves and walked over to the bedroom door. Clicked the lock open and pulled the door knob. Before he left, he paused, half-turning back to Jack, a huddled heap on the bed.

He stared at the boy and in a low voice, uttered,

“Sam never finds out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find more of my wolfish tales on [tumblr](http://weefaol.tumblr.com/). <3


End file.
